


The Years of Confusion

by shadowsamurai



Series: The Affinity Chronicles [5]
Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 12:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsamurai/pseuds/shadowsamurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 5 of The Affinity Chronicles shows Boyd and Grace's relationship as they start to rebuild it. The Years of Confusion will feature tales from the day they meet again to the day they realise they need each other more than anything else. Join Boyd and Grace as their journey of friendship continues, where they learn how to laugh again and quite possibly love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tension Cracks

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing things for a while and I promise I'll put everything back exactly how I found it when I've finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;) 

 

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Boyd swore as he tried to juggle his overcoat and briefcase in one hand while attempting to open the front door with the other. The bag of shopping didn't help either, and he bitterly wondered, not for the first time, why his wife had asked him to pick up the groceries on the way home. As if he wasn't busy enough; as if he didn't have enough on his mind already. The front door refused to open and swearing louder, Boyd put his shoulder to it, grunting as it unstuck. Unfortunately, the momentum carried him through at a stumble. Keys clattered to the ground, briefcase fell to the floor and cracked open, and then, to top it all, the bag with the egg and milk in slipped from his fingers and landed on his open case.

For a moment, Boyd simply stood and stared at the mess before him, wondering how many of the multitude of Gods he had severely pissed off to be saddled with the luck he had. Finally deciding he didn't really care to find an answer to that, Boyd began swearing sulphurously again, the very air around him blistering with curses. Then, at the same time but from different directions, he heard two voices.

"Peter! Do *not* use language like that in the house, especially in front of Joe!"

"Dad!"

Boyd looked up to glare at Mary first, as she had emerged from the kitchen, hands on her hips and a frown on her face. Then he turned, just in time to catch his son as Joe came hurtling down the stairs and launched himself into his dad's arms. Unfortunately, Joe didn't pay much mind to where his legs were going, and the solid kick in the nuts Boyd received was the last straw.

"How many times have I told you not to run in the house?" he roared at his eight year old son. "Go to your room!"

"But, Dad…!" Joe started to protest, but Boyd cut him off.

*"Now!"* Boyd told him. Joe's expression hovered between hurt, angry and defiant before he finally turned and stomped upstairs as loudly as he could. "And don't stamp your feet!"

Mary was staring incredulously at her husband. "What the hell is the *matter* with you, Peter?" she asked, walking towards him. "He's just a boy!"

"He's old enough to know better," Boyd snapped back, looking down at the ruined paperwork in his briefcase…and the ruined briefcase. The part of his mind that was turning insane because of the stress wondered if he could make a cake of it all if he added sugar and flour to the eggs, work, and milk.

"He's a boy," Mary repeated. "Go and apologise to him."

Boyd's head snapped up and his dark eyes flashed. "I am *not* a boy," he replied heatedly. "So don't treat me like one."

"Then don't act like one!" Mary shook her head. "I don't understand you; you were never this bad tempered. What happened?"

Boyd almost said 'I married you!' but he clamped his jaw shut at the last second. He had to keep reminding himself that *he* pursued *her*; sometimes he wondered why the hell he had bothered. Obviously he wasn't thinking clearly enough at the time. Instead he knelt and started to clean up the mess in front of him, all the time watching Mary's feet to see if she would leave. She didn't.

"Ignoring me isn't going to help matters either."

"I don't think I've ever had the luxury of being able to ignore you, have I?"

Mary stared at his bowed head in disbelief. "What *is* this all about? Is it because I asked you to pick a few bits up? Is that why you're throwing a tantrum?"

Boyd stood quickly, the muscles in his shoulders bunching in frustration and anger. "No, that was the straw that broke the camel's back, I think!" he shouted back. "All you have to do is look after the house; clean it, do the shopping, look after Joe. If that's too much to ask, you should have said so before you volunteered! And before you say it, this was *not* my idea! I've told you that you can find work if you want, but you're too happy basking in the glory of being married to a copper who's going somewhere!"

"Glory? *Glory?* You think there's any glory to be had married to *you*?" Mary yelled. "You're crazy! It's a first class chore - I should get a medal with each year that bloody well passes!"

"You want to leave, the door's right there!" Boyd told her, pointing behind him.

Mary stared at him. "You're not serious."

"Perfectly. After all, you won't be interested in me if I end up staying as a DS all my life, will you?"

"What are you talking about? You're due a promotion, with a couple of weeks," Mary said, frowning. "It was a sure thing."

"Exactly, *was*," Boyd replied. "Now it's looking as likely as snow tomorrow."

"But what happened?" Mary asked, her expression growing aghast. "I've already made arrangements for a celebratory dinner party…." She trailed off in horror as she realised she had said too much.

Boyd's answering expression was grim, triumphant and menacing in equal parts. "This is *exactly* what I'm talking about! I don't want to be promoted just so my wife can gloat; I want to be promoted because I earned it for being good at my bloody job!"

"You haven't told me why you won't get the promotion," Mary prodded, trying to steer the conversation away from her blunder.

Boyd ran a hand through his hair in frustration, noting absently how long it was becoming. "I hit a suspect, alright? The little shit was being a wanker, so I hit him. Unfortunately the other copper sitting in on the interview hates my guts and we'd no sooner left the room than the bastard went and grassed on me."

Mary stared for a while, then shook her head. "You bloody idiot," she said, her tone frankly disappointed.

"Thanks," Boyd replied flatly. "Just the loving support I expect from my wife." He bent once again to try and clean the mess that was now starting to congeal.

But Mary wasn't finished. "Who's Grace?" She knew the answer, of course; he had explained all about his old friend when they first met. But now, it seemed, there was a different purpose to her question, almost as though Grace's position in her husband's life had changed.

Boyd froze, his heart racing without his permission, and his mouth grew dry. Slowly, making sure his face was expressionless, he looked up. "Why?"

"Who is she?" Mary repeated.

"Someone I used to know," Boyd replied wearily. "It doesn't matter."

But Mary saw through her husband as clearly as if he was a sheet of glass. "Then why do you mutter her name when you're asleep? I didn't notice so much at first. I dismissed it as simple ramblings in your sleep, but over the past few months you talk about her every night. Who is she, Peter?"

Boyd stood, finally having given up with his briefcase. He fixed his wife with a decidedly chilling stare before replying, "I told you, it doesn't matter. I need a drink."

Mary watched her husband walk down the hallway to the living room, noticing the slight slump in his broad shoulders, and she began to wonder how much longer they could remain together.

TBC


	2. Strain Marks

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Grace sighed in frustration as the phone rang and carefully reaching across the desk, she picked it up, wedging the receiver between her shoulder and chin so she could talk and carry on working. The paperwork, she was certain, was multiplying before her very eyes, much like the Tribbles did on the *Enterprise.*

"Dr Grace Foley," she replied, scribbling some notes in the margin of a case file.

*"Hi, darling."*

Grace didn't manage to suppress the groan at the sound of her husband's voice. "Is this important, James?" she asked, her told sharper than she intended. "Only I'm up to my ears in work."

*"Aren't you always?"* James replied.

Though his tone was light and playful, Grace found herself reacting irritably. "What do you want?"

There was a brief silence. *"I was just wondering if you'll be home for dinner or whether I should simply put yours in the oven,"* he said, his tone cool.

"Just leave it in the oven, thank you." She sighed. "Why do you keep phoning me? You know I can't give you a time when I'll be home."

*"Because I keep hoping things will change. When did your work take over your life?"*

"When I became so much in demand," Grace replied without a trace of ego. "Look, James, I'm not going to apologise for being good at my job. I've worked bloody hard to get where I am, and I'm not about to give it all up now."

*"No one's asking you to, Grace,"* James said in exasperation. *"But can't you find some sort of balance between work and home life? I'm tired of working and doing everything at home."*

"So your reasons for wanting me to work less are purely selfish, then?" she asked. "You want me to pack everything in and be a good little housewife?"

*"That's not what I meant and you damn well know it, Grace,"* James snapped. *"Don't psychoanalyse me; you'd only get it wrong."*

"Was there anything else you wanted?"

*"Think about the kids if nothing else,"* he said, his tone pleading.

"They're not my kids!" Grace exclaimed, throwing her pen down on the desk in frustration. She had just managed to get herself into a groove that allowed her to breeze through her work a little easier and now James had completely disrupted that flow with his mindless phone call. But it was only after a lengthy, stony silence that Grace realised what she had said, and that it was much too late to change it or apologise.

*"I see. Well, don't let me keep you any longer,"* James replied in a deceptively mild voice.

"James, I didn't…."

*"Yes, you did, Grace. This isn't the first time you've said that, you know. Look, you just carry on with your work and I'll see you when I see you."*

Grace didn't even have time to think of a reply before the phone line went dead. Sighing, she replaced the receiver and dragged a hand wearily over her face. When she imagined being married, she didn't imagine it would be such hard work. Grace knew couples fought, but that was all she and James seemed to do lately, and the kids didn't help matters. Andrew was almost twelve and Jackie was thirteen and a half, and they were the definition of typical teenagers. One minute they loved Grace more than anything else in the word, the next breath they were shouting and yelling, and whether James knew it or not, cries of 'You're not my mother!' had echoed around the house more times than Grace cared to remember. She knew many people took on other people's children when they got married, and they made the family work, but for some unknown reason, Grace simply couldn't do it.

Uncovering her face, she looked down at the paperwork before her with an expression of loathing and then, unbidden, her eyes drifted to the small scrap of paper that was half hidden by the phone. Not that the piece of paper was needed any more; Grace had committed the number scribbled on it to memory the second she had seen it. But having the paper there was a physical reminder to her; all she needed now was the courage to call the number. The problem was, she wasn't sure what to say or even if he would want to hear from her.

An agonising twelve years had passed since she had last spoken to Boyd but not a day had gone by when Grace didn't think about him. The moment was drawing nearer for her to make things right with him, of that she was certain. But exactly when was a question she didn't yet have an answer to.

TBC


	3. Party Favours

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Boyd hated functions of any kind with a passion. If his home life had been even one iota better than it was, he wouldn't have been there. But his relationship with Mary had somehow reached the point that no matter what he did or didn't do, say or didn't say, they ended up arguing. And Joe, who was now almost twelve, wasn't helping matters.

Boyd sipped his wine and shook his head, his expression somewhat bemused. He wasn't quite sure where the years had gone to, or how his son had suddenly ended up being twelve. Sometimes he couldn't believe he was a father to begin with, but those thoughts always ended up becoming bitter. His parents would be so disappointed with the way he had changed and grown up, and especially how he conducted himself as a father and a husband. And, inevitably, Boyd ended up thinking about Grace. He had followed her career over the years with interest, and he liked to believe she had done the same with him, though he was certain she would view his progress with some consternation.

He had received his promotion to Detective Inspector three years ago, through a sheer stroke of luck, and now the top brass in the Met were already talking about promoting him to Chief Inspector. But for the first time in his life, Boyd had doubts as to whether he wanted the promotion; he had doubts about the path his career, and more importantly his life, was taking.

A woman in a low cut dress, who had obviously had too much to drink already, tottered over to Boyd. "I've been watching you from across the room all night," she said in what she thought was a sultry voice.

Boyd just thought she sounded as pissed as a newt the way she slurred every syllable. Scowling, he looked down at her and replied, "Well go back over there and keep watching."

The ring on his finger meant nothing, Boyd knew, as his marital troubles were extremely well known within the force and not a week passed when someone didn't make a pass at him. At first he was flattered, but now he got the distinct impression he was the butt of some obscure joke that everyone was privy to except him. In fact, the only female colleague who hadn't tried to seduce his was his new partner, DS Jess Worrell; ironically, she was the only woman Boyd might have considered having an affair with.

As he went to take a drink, he realised his glass was empty…again. Boyd wondered if there was a leak in it somewhere as the wine seemed to vanish at an astonishingly fast rate. Though he had to admit, he wasn't particularly bothered; if a large amount of alcohol was what was needed to get him through the night without killing anyone, then Boyd would drink the equivalent of the Thames dry. He made a small mental note to check the fine print of his contract as a policeman when he got home; he was certain there was a clause somewhere that said the higher up the ladder you went, the more parties, social events, and brass-gatherings you had to attend.

Boyd approached the bar with the air of a bull in a china shop and everyone automatically melted out of his way. With a full glass once again, he took himself off to the farthest corner of the room to people watch, surreptitiously glancing at his watch to see how soon he could comfortably sneak away to his local pub instead. Boyd was just about to take a drink when a woman at the other side of the room caught his eye. Even at that distance, the gleaming silver band on her finger was obvious, warning people to stay away, though her body language was doing a good enough job of preventing anyone from going near her. Her hair, Boyd could see, was naturally dark, but she seemed to have decided blonde's had more fun and looked to be in the process of lightening her locks. Her figure was fuller than most of the stick insects walking around, but she certainly wasn't flabby by any stretch of the imagination, and it didn't take Boyd long to realise he was staring quite obviously. Shaking his head, he turned away, mentally berating himself for his thoughts. While his marriage might be much of one, it was still a marriage and Boyd wasn't about to give Mary any ammunition to use against him by being unfaithful.

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

How James had persuaded Grace to attend to attend the Policeman's Ball alone, she didn't know, but there she was, alone and glad of it, if she was honest with herself. While her marriage had stabilised, Grace still felt as though something was wrong between James and herself. He had grown secretive of late, which she didn't like, but then she wasn't blameless in that area either. She hadn't seen fit to tell her husband how many job offers she had turned down, simply because she wished to avoid any more arguments. But the truth of it was Grace was so proficient at what she did that she was highly in demand, and if she wanted, she could have her pick of several plum jobs anywhere in the country. Sacrificing her career for her marriage was not something she had planned on or even considered; not for the first time, Grace wondered if getting married had been such a good idea.

Suddenly she felt someone watching her, and unobtrusively, she looked around the room. She knew her posture was the main reason people were avoiding her; the ring on her finger only helped to reinforce the fact she was unapproachable and unobtainable. But someone had taken an interest in her, and Grace wondered who it was. Her initial sweep of the room didn't reveal anyone, but then it was dimly lit and so she looked again. Her eyes came to rest briefly on a dark corner and while whoever was there was well hidden, Grace could make out the bare details. He was tall and broad shouldered, and looked as comfortable at the party as she did. He held his wine glass quite tightly, and she guessed it was not his first drink.

Rather than stare openly in curiosity, Grace watched him out of the corner of her eye, only turning when he finally emerged from the shadows, presumably to either fill his glass again or make his escape. Grace didn't see his face clearly, but she could see his hair was quite long and already beginning to grey slightly. He had been trim at one time, but even under his well cut suit, she could see he was going to seed. Probably too much sitting behind a desk, Grace assumed. But there was something about him that caught her eye, and she watched him, her curiosity growing.

Then he made a movement, something so small and simple that no one else would have noticed, but Grace saw it and she froze. Her heart began to beat loudly, the blood pounding in her ears deafening her. She wanted to run from the room as quickly as possible, but she knew any movement would undoubtedly attract his attention. She was certain he hadn't recognised her, but why would he? It had been close to fifteen years since they had last seen each other, but Grace knew without a doubt the man she been watching was her old friend, Peter Boyd. Seeing him again raised so many mixed emotions in her, Grace felt like she was choking and she turned suddenly, blindly, looking for the nearest exit.

A touch on her arm made her jump violently and she turned quickly, her eyes wild. "Dr Foley? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Do you remember me?"

Grace forced her heart to slow down and she swallowed, nodding. "Of course. PC Jordan."

Spencer smiled. "It's DC now, ma'am, and it's Spencer. Or Spence, if you prefer."

Grace returned the smile. "In that case, Spencer, it's Grace. When did you transfer to CID?" She didn't bother asking him how he had been; the question would just have been insulting to the both of them.

"About three years ago, at the recommendation of a DS who was stationed in the same nick as I was," he replied. "Actually, he was the one who suggested I went to see you instead of a regular counsellor after…well, after what happened."

Grace looked startled. "Why me?"

Spencer shrugged. "He said you were the best."

"What was the name of this DS again?" Grace asked, though she didn't know why she was bothering. She already knew the answer.

"Boyd." Spencer looked around. "Actually, I think I've seen him somewhere." He spotted the older man at the other side of the room. "There he is. Do…?" Spencer broke off, confused. The space where Grace had been stood not seconds earlier was suddenly empty, with no sign of the woman herself.

The DS was so busy scanning the room for her that he didn't notice someone coming to his side. "Whatever you said to her, it couldn't have been good."

Spencer turned and half-scowled at Boyd. "I didn't say anything, sir, we were just talking."

"Oh?" Boyd asked, not really all that curious. "What about?"

"You, actually. Maybe that's what upset her." Spencer grinned. "Mind you, with a face like that, I'm not surprised. Sir."

"You know, Jordan, you've got a clever mouth on you," Boyd said acidly. "It'll get you into trouble one day."

Spencer shrugged again. "More than likely."

"Well?"

"Well what, sir?"

Boyd sighed in exasperation. "Are you going to tell me who you were talking to?"

"The shrink you sent me to a few years ago, Dr Foley."

Boyd happened to be drinking at the time and he started to choke magnificently, right after he sprayed red wine all over the floor. *"Who?"* he asked in a hoarse voice.

"Grace Foley," Spencer replied, frowning. "Problem, boss?"

"No. No problem," Boyd said after he had recovered from his choking fit.

Spencer shrugged once more. "Alright." He dug into his pocket and pulled his cigarettes out. "Time for a smoke."

Boyd rolled his eyes. "Time for me to leave." He didn't wait for the younger man to reply, he just turned, put his glass down on the nearest surface, and headed for the doors, wondering if he could catch Grace before she left completely, but he wasn't hopeful.

As he reached the car park, Boyd could clearly see it was empty, and he began to swear. He wasn't exactly sure how he felt, all he knew was that he had to talk to Grace again soon. Stalking to his car, Boyd climbed in and sat staring out of the window for a few minutes, trying sort his thoughts. It wasn't until he started the engine that he noticed the scrap of paper wedged under the window wiper. Making sure the car was in neutral, Boyd opened the door and reached around, frowning in curiosity. Opening the folded piece of paper, he saw a number written on it. Though the handwriting was shaky, Boyd recognised it instantly. Unconsciously, he brought the paper to his nose, closed his eyes, and inhaled. The scent of Grace's delicate perfume lingered there, and suddenly Boyd felt like there was a speck of hope on the horizon at last.

TBC


	4. Lunch Dates

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*One week after the party….*

Boyd pulled his tie loose from around his collar and sank wearily into his chair. His desk at the station had become his home, and he could no longer remember what his son and wife looked like. The case he had been involved with had been particularly stressful, and with a furtive look around to make sure he was alone, Boyd reached for the bottle of whisky he kept in the bottom drawer. But before he could pour a single drop, the phone started to ring. Closing his eyes, Boyd tried to ignore the sound, but the noise bored into his brain and finally, with a grunt of impatience, he slammed the drawer shut and snatched the receiver from the cradle.

"Boyd," he snapped by way of greeting.

There was a lengthy silence and he thought it was a prank call, but there was a tug in the pit of his stomach, attached to a sense he couldn't quite place. It wasn't a feeling, more like base intuition. And then, just as the person spoke, Boyd breathed her name.

*"Hello, Peter."*

"Grace."

*"I can call back if this is a bad time,"* she said quietly.

"No, no, it's fine. It's just…." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He'd had it in his mind to call Grace ever since the party, and her number was wedged under his desk phone, but work had taken a manic spiral and the days had just slipped away.

*"You've been busy,"* Grace stated, finishing his sentence.

Boyd smiled wearily. "Yeah. Something like that." He took a breath. "So, how have you been?"

*"Fine. And you?"*

"Fine."

*"Good."* Grace paused again, and Boyd could almost hear her shaking her head. *"This is ridiculous. I don't even know what to call you, let alone say to you."*

"Try 'Boyd'," he suggested. "That's what everyone else calls me."

*"And you don't mind?"*

There was a sharp stab of recollection as he thought back to their last conversation so many years ago, of the trouble that had dogged their lives because of both sets of parents, and of the vehemence in Grace's voice when she shouted his surname.

"No, I don't mind. It's what I get called at work," he replied, several beats too late. "I've grown used to it."

Grace noticed the hesitation, knew what it was for, but knew better than to pursue it. *"I see. I wondered…whether you got my note, or whether you actually wanted to talk to me."*

"I got the note and…I did want to talk to you, but why now, Grace?" Boyd asked, noting how easy her name came to his lips. So much had changed; even his feelings, that he thought would never alter, had morphed into something else. But that didn't mean he didn't care about her; his love for her had slowly died to embers, but Boyd found Grace was still so very important to him. He could only imagine how she felt about him.

*"I saw you at the party and I realised…how much I missed you,"* Grace replied simply, also wrestling with cold hard reality and with the maelstrom of emotion swirling inside her. She had broken up with Boyd all those many years ago, and she had convinced herself that she didn't love him; most of the time, Grace knew it was true. But once they stopped talking, she started to discover she had been living a lie. If she could go back in time and stop her younger self from making such a stupid mistake, she would do it in a heartbeat. Grace had loved Boyd and as the years dropped away like stones in a pond, she realised she had never stopped. Her simple mistake had been not to distinguish between the truth and the lie; her fear of commitment was the reason she had broken up with Boyd, not the apparent sudden alteration to her feelings.

Boyd wasn't stupid, and he knew his next words would be make or break. "I…I missed you too, Grace," he said softly. "So much has happened, so many things I wanted to tell you. But I…I'm not the same, things aren't the same…."

*"I know, Boyd, I know,"* Grace replied, her voice calm and level though inside she was screaming with relief. *"If you want to, I would like to try to rebuild our friendship. I know it's been a long time but…."*

"I'd like that," he interrupted. "Hang on…." Making a mad stretch across his over-full desk, Boyd grabbed his tattered diary. "How about lunch next…Wednesday?"

*"Let me check…."* Grace made a similar manoeuvre, though her desk was tidier than Boyd's and she didn't have to reach quite as far. *"Lunch next Wednesday sounds fine to me. Where?"*

"Why don't we stick with a pub for now?"

*"There's one around the corner from where you work. I forget the name. I'll meet you there, say, twelve thirty?"* Grace asked.

"Twelve thirty it…hang on, how do you know where I work?" Boyd exclaimed.

Grace allowed herself a slight chuckle. *"Come on, Boyd, don't tell me you haven't been keeping tabs on me over the years as well?"*

"That's different," he replied quickly.

*"Of course it is."*

Their easy banter made Boyd smile. He wouldn't have thought it would be so easy to fall back into old routines so smoothly, but then again, a five minute phone call was no clear indicator. Lunch would tell him everything he needed to know.

"I sorry, but I've got to go. I need to get home…." He stopped, not really knowing why but not willing to tell Grace about his family just yet.

But she seemed to understand; Boyd smiled as he realised Grace always did. *"I should go home as well,"* she replied. "I'll see you next Wednesday. You've got my number if there's a problem."*

He nodded, then said, "I'll ring you. Night, Grace."

*"Night, Boyd."*

It was only after he had put the phone down that what had just happened struck Boyd properly, and while shaking his head, he wondered just how Grace had gotten hold of his phone number without him knowing about it.

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*One year after the party….*

Boyd stalked into the pub with a face like thunder, people melting out of his way like a river parting. He didn't need to look very hard to see the person he was meeting, and as he spotted Grace at a table in the corner, his anger ebbed immediately. Not only had she chosen a quiet spot for their weekly lunch, she had also ordered him a pint and a double whisky, which sat on the table waiting for him. It was like she had anticipated his bad mood and taken instant action to cheer him up.

Grace looked at Boyd critically as he sat down, grabbed the whisky, and downed it in one gulp. "I was right," she said cryptically.

"You usually are," he replied with a tight smile. "One day you'll have to tell me how you manage it."

"I wouldn't dream of sharing state secrets."

"I thought you might look at it that way."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Grace asked casually, sipping her wine.

"Not particularly." Boyd looked around. "What's on the menu?"

"Pie and chips."

Boyd groaned. "Don't you think something healthier would be better?"

Grace stared at him for a moment before replying. "No. Why, Boyd, are you watching your figure?"

"Have you ordered?" he asked, ignoring her question.

"Of course." Grace studied her friend for a moment, noting how his expression had become guarded at her offhand comment, the way the shutters came down behind his eyes. There were a great many things he wasn't telling her, even after the months they had spent renewing their friendship.

It hadn't been easy. For the first few months, 'awkward' was a mild understatement, but they had endured and finally come through the other side of the darkness. They still shared a bond, one that no amount of long years passed would ever erode, but they were no longer as close as they had been. Time had created a barrier that would take as many years to break as it had to build, but so far neither was willing to give up. Their weekly lunch meetings was something both had grown to look forward to, and once they started to relax, the whole affair was enjoyable.

There were still things Boyd hadn't shared with Grace, and vice versa, but they either didn't seem important or it just wasn't the right time. Boyd wanted to ask his friend's advice on what he should do about the growing attraction between himself and his partner, Jess Worrell, even though he was married, unaware of the discomfort and hurt it would cause Grace. Grace wanted to confide in Boyd she thought her husband was cheating on her, as his mood and behaviour had changed greatly over the past few weeks, unaware of how Boyd would react to such a suggestion.

But Boyd, having studied his friend for a few moments, knew something was wrong. There were extra lines on Grace's face that hadn't been there the week before, and the patches of skin under her eyes were dark. She looked pale and tired, but putting on a brave face for the rest of the world.

Leaning forward, his expression intent, Boyd said the two words that pierced Grace's defensive shell instantly. "What's wrong?" She felt her eyes tear and instinctively she made to wipe them, but to her surprise, Boyd's hand stopped her. "Here."

"Thank you," Grace said, accepting the proffered handkerchief. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. What's wrong?"

Once she started, she found she couldn't stop. She told Boyd everything, which wasn't much but it seemed to take a while to get it all out. He listened, nodding occasionally, and holding her hand in his gently. When she had finished, Boyd was frowning.

"It doesn't sound like an affair to me."

"Are you an expert on such matters?" Grace asked, her tone sharper than necessary.

Boyd sucked his breath in to calm himself. "No, but speaking as a police officer, it just doesn't fit the mould. And speaking as a man, that's not how you'd go about having an affair. We're not all built the same, I know, but it's basic genes. Women do most things the same way, don't they?"

"I suppose."

"It's the same with men. Grace, if you want my advice…."

"Oh dear."

"…Just talk to James," Boyd continued.

Grace's expression grew pained. "But what if…."

"Then you phone me and I'll meet you wherever you want me to." He squeezed her hand. "You have to know the truth, whatever it might be. It'll drive you crazy otherwise."

"Relationship advice? From you?" Grace asked, finding it difficult to contain her amusement.

Boyd just shrugged. "Sound advice from a friend, take it or leave it."

"Do you always have to be so defensive?"

"Well developed habit." Suddenly his pager beeped, startling them both. "Shit. Hang on. Crap." Boyd looked apologetically at his friend. "I'm sorry, Grace, I've got to go."

She nodded. "I understand." Just then lunch arrived and Boyd stared at it with undisguised longing. "I thought you were adverse to so much cholesterol?"

"I am, but…."

Grace smiled sweetly at him. "Don't worry, Boyd. I'll take care of this for you." She pulled his plate over to her side of the table.

"You're a cruel woman," he complained.

"I know."

Boyd took a step away from the table, then turned and grabbed a handful of chips. "See you next week?" he asked, flashing her a grin.

Her smile turned fond. "Try to stop me."

TBC


	5. Harsh Reality

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Boyd tried hard not show any emotion as he thanked the police officer who stood at his front door, looking for all the world like he would rather be in hell than at the house of a DCI, especially one with Boyd's reputation. As soon as Boyd took hold of his son - severely by the scruff of the neck, the PC noted - the man turned and left as quickly as was dignified, and even if it was undignified, the PC didn't care. All he knew was that he wanted to put as much distance between him and the Boyd household.

At fourteen and a half, Joe Boyd had developed a rather unsavoury reputation amongst the police force, a reputation that was enhanced by the fact that his father was a prominent high-ranking officer, and a very newly promoted one at that. Boyd stopped counting how many times his son had been 'picked up' and returned home for petty offences; no actual charges had been brought yet, no proper arrests made, but Boyd knew it was only a matter of time.

The worst part was, it didn't matter what he said to Joe - or what Mary said to their son, for that matter - Joe just didn't listen, and usually replied with the vilest abuse he could muster, which wasn't much for an adolescent, but more than Boyd was happy with.

Boyd threw his son down the hall. "What the hell did you do *this* time?" he snapped.

Joe turned and glared at his father. "What does it matter? The only thing you're concerned with is how this affects you and your bloody career!"

"Don't swear!" Boyd said, clipping Joe around the back of the head.

Joe stared incredulously at his father. "You think *that's* swearing? Your head's full of sand!"

"What are you two arguing about now?" Mary asked with angry exasperation as she came into the hallway.

"*Your* son was just dropped off by a patrol car…*again*," Boyd replied scathingly.

Mary narrowed her eyes and glared at him. "*My* son?"

"I can't believe you married such a loser, Mum!" Joe shouted.

"Don't talk to your mother like that," Boyd said, clipping him again.

"You talk to her like that all the time!"

"That's different!"

Joe turned to Mary. "Why are you still with him? And please don't say it was for me! I don't think you've ever done anything for me!" He turned to look at his dad. "Either of you!"

*"Go to your room!"* Boyd roared finally. "You're grounded!"

Joe glared at both his parents before stomping up the stairs, making as much noise as possible and muttering mutinously under his breath. Boyd and Mary stared at each from either end of the hall, like two armies sizing each other up before the battle.

"Well?" Boyd asked, breaking the silence.

"Well what?" Mary replied.

"Don't you want to say anything?"

"Where's the point? You wouldn't listen. You never do." And with that, she turned and went back into the living room, slammed the door shut and turned the volume up on the TV.

Boyd took several deep breaths but nothing abated his anger. He was certainly, absolutely sure, that life wasn't supposed to be like this, wasn't supposed to be so damn hard. Love, he knew, was supposed to endure everything and anything, so why did his marriage feel like a chain around his neck, strangling him? Why did he look at his wife and hate the very sight of her? He begrudged her the ground she walked on and the air she breathed…it wasn't supposed to be like this.

Without bothering to tell anyone where he was going, Boyd opened the front door and walked out to his car. He climbed in, turned the engine on and the radio off, and started to drive. Miles slipped away, lights blurred into one another, and Boyd felt as though he could have driven all night if his mobile hadn't interrupted the peacefulness of that dull monotony.

He hated mobile phones. Gone were the days of being able to just disappear off the radar for as long as you wanted, or as long as you could manage. Now everyone and anyone could get hold of you whenever they wanted. If he hadn't been given one for work, Boyd wouldn't have even considered the use of one. Besides, it wasn't just that. The damn thing was built like a brick. At least he could use it to gain entrance to a building if necessary; it would save picking the lock if he just smashed the window.

Boyd guessed, without looking, that it was Mary, but he instinctively knew his wife would never bother with a phone call to yell at him; she would simply wait until he returned home and then tear strips off him. Pulling over, Boyd looked at the number on the screen. Not recognising it, he sighed and answered the call.

"Boyd."

*"It's me."*

"Of course it is," he replied, silently berating himself for not realising it was Grace's number.

*"I know I promised I wouldn't disturb you at home but…."* She broke off as her voice caught. *"Can you meet me?"*

Boyd hesitated, surprised. "Now?"

*"I know it's late,"* Grace started to say, but Boyd cut her off.

"No, it's fine. Where?"

*"The café near the pub we go to for lunch should still be open,"* Grace replied.

"I know it. I'll meet you there in about twenty minutes, okay?" Boyd asked.

*"Fine, thank you. If I'm not there…."*

"I'll wait."

*"Thank you, Peter."*

Before he could reply, Grace had hung up, and Boyd sat back in his seat frowning. That was the first time since they had renewed their friendship that she had called him by his first name, and by that alone, he knew whatever was bothering her was extremely important. But before he could set off, the phone rang again.

"Boyd."

*"Hello, Peter."*

Despite himself, Boyd smiled. "Hi, Jess. What can I do for you?"

*"I have a list,"* Jess replied. *"Though most of the things on it involve a bed and no clothes."*

Boyd blushed a little. "I'm sure that could be arranged."

*"Now?"*

"Not now, no. Something's come up."

Jess sighed. *"If this is what happens with promotion, I think I'll stay a DI."*

"Believe me, you're better off doing," Boyd replied. "I'm sorry." He never uttered those words to his wife, but with Jess, it seemed natural.

*"That's alright, I'll make you pay next time I do see you."* She paused. *"When will that be, Peter?"*

"I don't know," he said honestly.

*"Well, if you find a window in your diary where you can fit me in, let me know."*

Boyd pulled a face. "Jess…."

*"Relax, Peter, I'm joking,"* she told him. *"But you do sound stressed. You ought to try and relax more."*

"Thanks. Listen, I might be able to come around later."

*"I'll be in bed."*

"And?"

Jess laughed. *"We'll see."*

Boyd smiled as well. "I've got to go."

*"I know. Don't work too hard."* And with that, the phone went dead again.

Boyd sat for a while in his car, enjoying the small feeling of quiet that he always got after talking with Jess, then he remembered he was supposed to be meeting Grace and sped off, though no faster than the limit.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he said as he entered the café and saw Grace waiting for him. It never even occurred to Boyd that he uttered the words even more effortlessly than he did to Jess; the notion simply never crossed his mind, but Grace's stricken expression did seem to erase almost every other thought in his head. "What's happened?"

Grace smiled, but it was a weak effort. "Do you always have to assume the worst?"

"I know you," Boyd replied bluntly. "What's happened?"

"It's James," Grace said brokenly. "He's…he's ill. In fact, he's dying."

Boyd reached across the table to take her hand. "Grace, I'm so sorry. Is that why he was acting strangely?" It had been months since Grace's admission something was amiss with her husband, but Boyd hadn't forgotten.

His friend nodded. "He wanted to keep it from me so I wouldn't worry. And he was thinking about the kids as well."

"And now?"

"Now James has no choice. He hasn't got long to live. Maybe twelve months at the most."

Boyd squeezed Grace's hand. "You should have told me as soon as you found out."

Grace smiled sadly at him. "I did."

TBC


	6. Only Almost

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It never got easier. Not matter what people said, the passage of time did not diminish some pains, and some hurts simply would not heal. Grace felt that was particularly true as she walked alone through the graveyard. She had just buried James, but that was not what was bothering her. Finally coming to a stop at her mother's grave, Grace though back to that lonely and difficult time in her life, when James had appeared and given her something to live for. But it wasn't the loss of her mother that was occupying Grace's mind, either; it was her long estrangement from Boyd.

Over the years, the lack of her oldest friend in her life had caused Grace a certain amount of grief, but it had lessened and she had moved on. Or at least that was what she thought. The short few years they had been talking again had caused her to question the real reason they had cut contact. Yes, it had been her decision, but Grace wasn't entirely sure why she had done it. It was a spur of the moment thing, an incident that should have been something and nothing, but it had turned into everything. Grace had blamed Boyd for a long time, but as she grew older, she realised they were both at fault, and for nothing more than simply being themselves.

Footsteps behind her caused Grace to stop walking and turn. Andrew and Jackie were coming up, their faces bleak and tear-stained. Grace felt a certain pang of sadness as she looked at the brother and sister that had never regarded her as a mother, merely their father's new wife. But now they were eighteen and nineteen, and old enough to understand the way the world worked, they had started to realise they had mistreated Grace. Their father's illness had brought them closer, almost like a proper family, but Grace knew that was all it would ever be: almost. And now with James gone, she was fully expecting Andrew and Jackie to announce that they were moving out, properly getting a flat together somewhere. They were very close and Grace couldn't see them living very far away from each other.

"Are you ready to go?" she asked them, making her tone light.

They both nodded, then exchanged a glance. "Grace, there's something we want to tell you," Andrew said tentatively.

"Ask would be more like it," Jackie amended.

Andrew shrugged. "Alright, ask."

Grace's smile was filled with pain. "You want to move out." It was a statement, as flat and cold as the gravestones around them.

Both children looked shocked. "What? No! What made you think that?" Jackie exclaimed.

"I just assumed…. Well, with our…history…." Grace stopped. "Am I wrong?"

Andrew strode up to her and put his arm around her shoulders. He was tall and already quite broad, much like his father had been. "Yes, very wrong. We wanted to know if we could stay with you while we're both at uni. I mean, when we graduate…well, it depends on the jobs. But until then…."

Grace looked surprised. "Why are you asking? It's your home."

"Yes, but it's your house now," Jackie pointed out.

Grace pursed her lips and tried not to frown. "I see. So you assumed I was just going to throw you out?"

Jackie looked slightly sheepish. "After we've treated you…."

"You were children," Grace interrupted. "You didn't understand. Do you now?"

Andrew nodded. "Yeah. Wasn't easy, but some things aren't, are they?"

"No, they're not." Grace squeezed his hand, then reached for Jackie. "Come on, let's go home."

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Boyd had his jaw clamped shut so tightly it ached, but if he had relaxed, even one iota, he would have blistered the skin off all the bastards who were sneering at him. Of course, the other police officers weren't actually sneering; they were too smart for that. But he could sense their eyes on him as he walked down the corridors of the station, their smug expression barely concealed as they watched the mighty DCI Boyd go to see his son.

Joe's behaviour had grown progressively worse as the months rolled by and when he had been arrested again, the duty sergeant had simply hit a speed dial number. Boyd found that piece of information in itself highly offensive. But as soon as he had seen the number on his phone, Boyd knew what had happened. He didn't even bother to answer the call, simply climbed into his car and drove to the station.

He waited for a moment until they brought Joe in, and the look his son gave him was one of pure, undisguised loathing. Boyd tried to talk to him, of course, tried to find out why Joe had been arrested this time, but the conversation didn't go very far. In the end, Joe had grown violent and all Boyd could do was sit back and watch as his son was dragged from the room. Joe's face contorted with anger and the last thing he shouted to his father was 'I hate you!' Those words, Boyd realised, would never fade from his memory; like a stain of blood embedded in rock, Joe's heartfelt and hurtful statement would haunt Boyd until the end of his days.

The reception when he got home, without Joe, wasn't much better. Mary screamed and shouted until she was hoarse, and then carried on some more. Boyd had long since stopped listening, though the sound of his wife's voice still grated on his nerves. He didn't need to hear what she was saying, anyway; Mary never varied in her arguments. Everything was Boyd's fault; if he had been a better father, a better husband, a better person, spent more time at home, less time on his career….

Eventually, Boyd just turned and walked towards his study, ignoring his wife's screeches, and slammed the door shut behind himself. He flopped into the chair behind his desk and automatically reached for the bottle of whisky in the bottom drawer. There was nothing else he would be able to do that day anyway. Joe would be detained overnight, at least, and Mary would take just as long to cool down. Boyd decided he would go down to the police station the next morning and wait for his son to come out. At least he was showing willing.

As Boyd stared out of the window, he sighed. He wanted to call Grace, but at the same time he didn't feel comfortable about disturbing her. Burying James couldn't have been easy for her, especially when his children had made things so difficult for Grace, but Boyd knew his old friend dealt with grief better on her own. In fact, she seemed to deal with a lot of things better on her own, or so it seemed. It was bad enough she had ungraciously knocked back his offer to come to the funeral with her, but after the trouble Boyd was having with Joe, he could understand Grace not wanting him there.

He looked at his diary and smiled slightly. The day after tomorrow was Wednesday, their lunch day, and he didn't doubt it would be a long affair as they both shared their different woes and sorrows.

But lunch never happened. When Boyd went to the station the next day to pick up Joe, the duty sergeant told him his son had already left. Boyd, grumbling, went to work and ended up becoming embroiled in a complex case straight away, one that kept him busy for the rest of the month, let alone the week. It was probably a good thing. Joe never went home again, at least not that Boyd or Mary knew. Mary alternated between crying, screaming and throwing things over the loss of her son, and despite Boyd's best efforts, Joe seemed to have disappeared off the face of the planet. In desperation, Boyd threw himself whole-heartedly into his work, driving himself and everyone around him harder and longer, and he wasn't nice about it either. In the months following Joe's disappearance, Boyd's reputation grew tenfold and soon there wasn't a copper in the Met who didn't know of him.

That led, naturally, to problems, especially with the coroner's office and the morgue. Whenever a body of young man was found, the pathologists would draw straws to see who would phone Boyd. Inevitably the DCI would storm into the lab and steel himself before looking at the body. The pathologists would all hold their breath, waiting for the flat statement of 'it's not him' before Boyd walked out again, not a word of greeting or thanks.

Grace also had her own demons to deal with. James' death hit her quite hard and she also threw herself into work, especially as the kids were at uni and only came home one weekend in every month. Grace and Boyd had spoken, albeit briefly; both knew they couldn't help the other and so they drifted again, but instead of growing apart, they coasted along side by side, within reach if they needed each other, but far enough apart that they wouldn't hurt each other.

Mary filed for divorce and Boyd wasn't at all surprised when she did. He was even less surprised that six months later, the paperwork was all completed and he could happily call himself a single man. He debated about calling Jess, but then he remembered how their affair had ended. She felt it was bad for her career being associated with someone with Boyd's reputation, and Boyd felt Jess was turning into his wife by blaming him for everything. A few heated words and a screaming match later, and they both went their separate ways after the forceful slamming of doors.

A year after Joe had disappeared and Boyd had aged, though only someone who had known him a long time would be able to see it clearly, and Grace could see it clearly. But Boyd also saw new lines on Grace's beautiful face that showed her increasing years, although he would never say anything to her. They hadn't had a lunch in twelve months, though they talked frequently on the phone, but both felt a change in the air. Boyd was growing restless in his position in CID and Grace was starting to feel the urge to leave Broadmoor, but both were far too comfortable to actually do anything about their predicaments. As always, a small shove was needed.

TBC


	7. The Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter spans a few years, and the last block is the start of the pilot episode.

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It was a slow process, but after everything that had happened - the divorce, Joe's disappearance, James' death - Boyd and Grace resumed their lunch dates, and they soon became more frequent. It was strange, but suffering separately had actually brought them closer. They started bantering again, like they did when they were younger, though it was a lot more flirtatious now. An invisible line had been drawn, of course, but neither of them felt the need to voice the rules. It occurred to both of them, separately, that there were still things they hadn't discussed. Grace didn't know how Boyd had met Mary, and Boyd didn't know how Grace had met James. They didn't know precisely how each other's careers had progressed or the trials they had both endured to get where they were, but it no longer seemed important to tell everything at once. They both seemed to realise there was time now to share things they wanted to, that neither of them was going to suddenly leave the other's life.

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"Well done, Boyd, you almost didn't make it," Grace greeted him as she got into his car.

Boyd groaned. "Give me a break, Grace, please."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Because you like me."

Grace looked surprised. "Do I? Who started that rumour?"

"Would you like to walk?" Boyd asked

"If I knew where we were going, I would."

Boyd smiled despite himself. "A pub. Where else? This is Spence, you know."

"Yes, I do, and I don't know why he invited me. I hardly know him," Grace said, staring out of the window.

"He remembers his therapy session."

Grace turned slightly. "Did he ever talk to you about it?"

Boyd shook his head. "And I didn't ask. Whatever you two discussed is private. Anyway, it worked and that's all that matters. Besides, I think he likes you."

"I'm old enough to be his mother," Grace murmured.

"Grace! I didn't mean…why do you always do that?" he asked plaintively.

She laughed. "Because I know it winds you up." She regarded him seriously. "Would you rather I didn't do it?"

Boyd pretended to think about it before smiling. "No. I think I can live with it."

They arrived at the pub ten minutes later and found it full of younger coppers already. "I think this was a bad idea," Grace muttered to Boyd.

He nodded his glum agreement. "Maybe we can make a quick escape before…."

"Grace! Sir!" Spencer exclaimed very loudly from the other side of the room.

"Too late," Boyd murmured.

"I didn't think you were going to make it," Spencer said, grinning as he shook Boyd's hand and then kissed Grace's cheek. "You weren't planning on running away, were you?"

"Only a little, Spence," Grace replied, smiling.

"Have one drink to show willing and then you can go." Spencer turned suddenly and shouted, "Mel! Order glass of wine and…." He looked at Boyd. "Sir?"

"I'm driving. Orange juice," Boyd replied, pulling a face.

Spencer grinned. "Mel, a glass of wine and an orange juice! And a beer for me!"

"Do I look like a waitress?" came the snappy reply. Both Boyd and Grace tried to locate the speaker without much success.

"Oh, come on, Amelia, I'm a DS now! And you're still a PC! I'm allowed to give orders!"

"You're not making matters any better for yourself," Mel said dryly.

Boyd had a quick glimpse of a petite blonde, from which the voice seemed to emanate, before she disappeared into the crowd again. "Don't worry, Spence, I can get our drinks. Congratulations, by the way. Detective Sergeant, eh? It's been a while coming."

"Not too long," Spencer replied with a grin. "But I'm hoping Inspector will be even sooner."

Boyd turned to Grace. "If he ever outranks me, shoot me."

Grace smiled. "I'll shoot you if you don't go and get those drinks."

Boyd thought about making a retort but decided against it. Instead he just scowled, threw his arms in the arm, and strode through the crowd, people melting instantly out of his path. Spencer looked speculatively at Grace.

"You've got him very well trained."

"You sound surprised," Grace said.

"I am. Boyd's got quite a reputation. It's unusual to see him so…." Spencer paused as he groped for the right word.

"Docile?" Grace asked with a straight face.

"Not the word I would have used, but…yeah."

Grace smiled and patted Spencer's cheek. "You're not a woman, that's all. Boyd doesn't feel threatened by me."

It was meant to be a light-hearted comment, but the DS caught an undercurrent and decided to let the comment drop. Taking Grace's arm, he smiled. "Come on, let me introduce you to a few people."

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Boyd shifted from foot to foot and sighed impatiently in the supermarket queue. He was already late and he knew he'd receive hell from her when he finally turned up at work. He wasn't very gracious to the girl at the checkout and he nearly ran over an old man in his haste to get out of the supermarket. But just as Boyd got to his car, he noticed a rather heavily pregnant woman struggling with her shopping, and chivalry won.

"Can I give you hand?" he asked as he strode over to her.

The woman blinked in surprise, but didn't seem overly inclined to accept his offer. Maybe she was used to doing things for herself or maybe it was the scowl on Boyd's face. Eventually, though, she just nodded.

"Thank you."

Boyd shrugged off her gratitude and lifted the bags easily into the boot of her car. "Your husband should be doing this," he said, not really thinking his comment through.

"If I had one, I'm sure he would do," the woman replied.

"Sorry." Boyd clamped his mouth shut so he wouldn't utter any more stupid remarks and finished loading the shopping. "I'll take the trolley back for you." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode off.

"Can I at least get a name?" the woman called after him.

Something about the whole incident had made Boyd sour, though he couldn't quite put his finger on what. "Why?" he asked ungraciously.

The woman stared at him coolly. "It's polite. Though I can see you're not really interested in being polite. I wonder if I've caught you at a bad time or whether you're always like this. Thank you, though, for helping me. Not everyone would." She turned and opened her car door.

"Peter Boyd," Boyd announced suddenly, not really knowing why.

The woman smiled. "I'm Jen."

Boyd deposited the trolley in its proper place and walked back to her. "So…when's the little fellow due?"

Jen pulled a face. "Not soon enough."

"And there's…just you?"

"Yes."

Boyd fished a card from his pocket. "If you need anything else, give me a ring."

Jen took the card, her fingers brushing his. "How about a coffee some time?"

"Easily done."

"Are you sure you want to pursue this?" she asked bluntly. "I mean, I'm going to be a single mother in a couple of months at the most. Why would you want to saddle yourself with that?"

Boyd regarded her carefully for a few moments. "I have my reasons, not least of which is I like you, already. We can just see where things go and if they work out, great. If not, we go our separate ways."

"You're an interesting man, Peter Boyd."

He grinned. "I try."

Suddenly, Jen leant forward and kissed his cheek briefly. "Thank you. I'll call you later. When would be best?"

Boyd checked his watch. "Try around three. That's usually a quiet time for me."

"Three it is. Bye, Peter." Jen smiled and climbed into her car while Boyd held the door open for her. He watched her drive off before going to his own car, his mood greatly improved.

As a result of his impromptu meeting, Boyd was extremely very late when he finally reached work, and he was pulling a white coat on as he entered the lab. "I'm sorry, Frankie," he said quickly.

The scientist was not so easily placated. "Where the *hell* have you been, Boyd?" she snapped. "We were supposed to start an hour ago! *An hour!*"

The others in the room attempted to keep straight faces; most succeeded. Boyd, however, just glared back. "I'm here now, Frankie." He folded his arms. "We're waiting on you. Whenever you're ready."

Frankie stared at him, a retort hovering on her lips, but she swallowed it, took a deep calming breath, and started. "Right, well, what we know already is…."

Boyd tuned out. He'd already read the report on the evidence found; he hadn't gone to the lab to have it all repeated to him, he wanted to see what kind of personality the scientist had. He wasn't disappointed. In the first few minutes, Boyd had discovered all he needed to know about Frankie, and now he settled himself into thinking about Jen instead. Of course, the first thing he would do once he left the lab would be to phone Grace everything. It was only right.

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"I think we need a new initiative," DAC Christie said.

It was the monthly meeting of police brass and they were discussing ways to improve public opinion of the Met. Putting more police officers back on the streets was one idea, though it was met with only a lukewarm response. Then the newly promoted DAC Christie had made that suggestion.

"Go on," the commissioner encouraged. He was interested to see what the junior officer would come up with.

Christie looked thoughtful. "How many unsolved cases do we have on file?"

Someone snorted derisively. "Too bloody many."

"Exactly," Christie replied. "So why not set up a small unit to deal with these unsolved cases? Some of them could yield quite satisfactory results, especially with the new advances in forensic science and psychology. And there are some high profile unsolved cases, if I remember correctly."

The commissioner looked thoughtful. "It's an interesting idea, Ralph. Who did you have in mind to head the unit?"

Christie smiled. "I don't need to ask if you know DCI Boyd, sir."

"I know of him, certainly, but don't you think he's a controversial choice?" the commissioner asked. "He's not exactly the most diplomatic of officers."

"True, sir, but you can't deny he's good at his job. And perhaps his no-bullshit attitude will give better results than someone who's only interested in their career. Let's face it, gentlemen, if a case can be solved properly, Boyd is the one to do it. Also, if you allow him to select his own team of, say, a forensic scientist, a forensic psychologist, and two junior officers, and give him almost free rein of how he works, it might just keep him out of trouble."

The commissioner didn't really need to think about the idea; as soon as Christie had pitched it, he had liked it. But he pretended, raised a few feeble objections just to see how serious the DAC was, then nodded.

"Alright, Ralph. This can be your baby too," the commissioner said. "Talk with Boyd, explain everything, and make sure you have the last word in the people he chooses for his team. But no more than four key members for now. We'll draft him additional staff until the amount of cases has been sorted through and prioritised. Sort out offices as well, somewhere out of the way of other police units. If this new initiative is a success, there'll be a lot of jealousy going around."

"And if it isn't, everyone will laugh," Christie replied a little sourly. "I get the idea, sir. When do you want me to start?"

"What's wrong with today?" the commissioner replied. "Call Boyd and set it up."

As soon as Christie left the meeting half an hour later, he went straight to his office. "Boyd, it's DAC Christie."

Boyd pulled a face at the other side of the phone. *"What can I do for you, sir?"*

Christie wasted no time. "I've been given authority by the commissioner to start a new unit that will deal specifically with unsolved crimes, a cold case unit, if you will, and I want you to head it."

*"Me, sir?"* Boyd asked after a moment's hesitation.

"Unless you don't want to," Christie replied. "But this is a good opportunity, Boyd, I hope you realise that. You'll be able to pick your own key members of the group; a pathologist, two officers, and a psychologist. Of course I'll need to vet them, but the choice is yours. And you'll be given almost carte blanche with regards to running the unit."

*"That's quite an offer, sir,"* Boyd said carefully.

"Do you want time to think about it?"

*"What is there to think about? The answer is yes, sir, I would be delighted to accept the offer."*

"Excellent," Christie said with a smile. "I hope you realise, though, Boyd, that it won't be easy. You know how new units are in the Met."

*"I understand, sir,"* Boyd replied, and he did. He knew he would be laughed and made fun off at every turn, and if the unit became a success, the jealous glares would be even worse. But he could endure all that; he had endured far more unpleasant things.

"I don't suppose you have any thoughts to your team yet?" Christie asked.

It was Boyd's turn to smile. *"Actually, yes, sir, I do…."*

Five minutes later, Boyd sat back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He certainly wouldn't be sorry to leave his pokey little office and the small minded officers he was forced to work with behind. In fact, he decided to start packing his things straight away. If Christie's tone of voice was anything to go by, the new unit would be up and running as soon as possible. Smiling to himself, Boyd reached for his phone and dialled a familiar number.

*"This had better be important, Boyd."*

"How did you know it was me?" he demanded to know.

Grace laughed. *"I have caller ID on my phone. What can I do for you?"*

"I just thought I'd see how you were."

*"Nice try. Now the real reason."*

Boyd's smile grew. "Do you remember when you told me you were tired of work at Broadmoor? That you wanted a new challenge?"

*"Yes, Boyd, I remember,"* Grace replied patiently.

"Well, I have a job offer for you. A genuine one. One that would require you to start almost immediately," Boyd said, wishing he could see her face.

There was a brief silence. *"Alright, you have my undivided attention. Tell me everything…."*

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Boyd hunched his shoulders up and turned slightly so the wind blew his hair off his face instead of onto it. His only consolation was that it wasn't raining, but the wind was freezing his…well, it was cold. Looking around, he saw the others gathered there weren't fairing any better, all wrapped up to the eyeballs. Frankie looked like Michelin Man, she was wearing so many layers; Spencer could have been Michelin Man's twin brother. As for Mel…well, Boyd was sure there was a person under all those clothes, but he couldn't be absolutely certain.

Boyd clasped his hands together and blew on them in a vain attempt to warm them a little, stamping his feet at the same time. Grace was unusually late, but as he had discovered, there was a miscommunication about times and who was picking who up, and Grace had been left behind. And no doubt, Boyd thought with a smile, she would be wearing entirely the wrong shoes. Deciding he'd frozen facing that direction, Boyd turned to survey his new team once again. He had his doubts, but he would never voice them, not when every single officer in the Met was watching to see how long it would take for him to fall flat on his face. And when he did, they would be there to laugh and point like children.

But Boyd was determined to make the cold case squad work. He was determined to show them all that he *was* good at his job, and that he could do that job well without playing the politics game. Then, in the distance, he saw a Land Rover making its way across the desolate heath and knew straight away Grace had finally arrived. Allowing himself a last smile before he put his professional mask in place, Boyd started to address his new team.

FIN


End file.
